


Summoning 302: Wards and Barrier Resonance

by Archaema



Series: Earth, the Veil Shed [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Girl Penis, Mildly Dubious Consent, Original Character(s), Original setting, Smut, Summoning, Tentacles, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaema/pseuds/Archaema
Summary: Before she was a succubus, Amélie was a smug woman with with a penchant for fucking with magic regularly.One day, fueled by anger, she learns for the first time that magic can fuck back far more seriously than she ever thought it could.





	Summoning 302: Wards and Barrier Resonance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bzarcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/gifts).



> Written on a request from BZArcher and as a gift work for her <3! Enjoy!

The door slammed shut, Amélie’s back falling against it as she sagged. Gritting her teeth, she clenched a fist, and then shoved herself away from the door like a furious storm.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” From the bedroom, hair wrapped in a towel, a woman leaned out and gave a concerned look toward the witch.

“If that asshole Trevor… Look, he’s going to fucking pay for this, ok?” She swept forward, her satchel of school books and papers left half-spilled onto the floor behind their living room couch. “No more little hexes. Fuck. Him.”

“Amélie, what did he do?” Her girlfriend reached out, taking her by the shoulder to slow her down. It made her snap out just a bit, her eyes wavering in their furious intensity.

“I tried to lose him,” Amélie said, as she looked up at her. “I tried so hard, I went through the medical arts building on the other side of campus, and even the geology lab. The geology lab!” Despite the frustrated anger, her voice was quavering, wounded.

“That’s what you did,” she replied calmly, cupping her cheek with her other hand. “Not what he did.”

“That absolute fucker, he started out humming that Aerosmith song and following me. Then he got it on his phone. Then his friend’s bluetooth speaker! For half a fucking hour!”

“Hang on, now,” she said, pulling her closer. “It’s ok. It’s done. You’re home and I’m here.”

“Vivian, he keeps pushing,” Amélie said, closing her eyes tightly as she leaned into her girlfriend’s arms.

“I know. And campus security wouldn’t help?”

“I’m never calling them again, not after last time. Once they read my name on the file and my student ID they just ridicule me.”

Vivian sighed, and shook her head.

“So. You’re going to go with that, huh?”

“Do you know a better option?”

“I don’t know, just… go easy on him. He doesn’t know what he’s fucking with, right?”

“Damn right he doesn’t fucking know what he’s fucking fucking with,” Amélie growled.

“Don’t turn his skin purple, please,” Vivian said, rubbing her temples gently, fingers gliding through her brown-blond hair.

“No promises,” Amélie replied.

“You already decided what you’re going to do, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Ok fine, what do you need?”

“I’ll email you a list tomorrow, while I’m in Kassler’s class. Either he won’t show up, like usual, or he’ll be staring at the blackboard the whole time.”

“Ugh, yeah, totally condone it. You’ll be doing him a service by not falling asleep.”

“I dunno, he might lull me into it anyway.”

Vivian grinned, and slid her arms around Amélie’s waist with a soft, lazy hug.

“Better?”

“‘Lil bit.” Amélie sighed and settled her arms against Vivians’, hands on her shoulders in a comfortable touch.

“Good, you think better when you’ve calmed down. Be my stone cold witch, yeh?”

“Always.”

 

*** * * * ***

 

Amélie was not, as a rule, a fan of having to get certain ingredients for rituals and spells, but just the same, she always did what was necessary.

Survival by any means was a skill that had been beaten into her from her earliest days, ingrained into the very fibre of her being.

But all in all, the cheeseburger she munched on as she walked to the library helped improve her mood.

As it happened, Chapel Hill University actually had three separate libraries. The first was the main library, where most of the students gathered to enjoy the modernized systems and cataloging. The computer workstations didn’t hurt, either. The second was the special baby of the engineering department.

The third, though, was nearly a secret, and it was under the purview of the oldest living faculty member. The antiquities and rarities collection, over half the books required checkout that could not be taken outside the old building. After the original library caught fire in an unexplained incident - of which Amélie could find only a single old newspaper article that explained effectively nothing - it had been moved to the building she found herself standing in front of.

She scarfed down the rest of the burger and wiped her fingers on a napkin from the bag, though it came with a grumble about how it was the third time she’d had to ask for them to include napkins. She slipped the trash into the recycling bin outside, and pushed her way past the heavy front doors.

Amélie always felt something when she stepped in the lobby. It felt off, though not in any way that bothered her, like something was making the hair on the back of her neck rise. It was the faintest charge that seemed to give her just an extra touch of energy, of focus and energy.

“Amélie, you’re here late.”

Whenever Professor Valois addressed her, Amélie couldn’t escape the feeling that there was some double meaning to her words. Sometimes, she wondered if the old woman could see into her soul, somehow, with the way her gray eyes fixated. But then her gaze would become distant.

“Hey Professor,” Amélie said, sighing quietly. “I’m here to check a few of the old Dante criticisms.”

“Ah, you’re such a good theology student,” she said, her eyes falling back to her as she gave a warm smile.

“You know I’m not a theology student,” Amélie replied, giving a wan laugh and shaking her head.  

“Could have fooled me.” The old woman turned toward her glowing computer display, and tapped it idly. “What would you have of me, young woman?”

That always made Amélie sigh on the inside with a bit of happiness, even if she tried not to show it.

“Nastarius’s Deconstruction, mostly. If I need anything else I can go from there?”

“Light reading, hm?”

“Dark reading, really.”

“Quite true. I’ll take you back,” she said, turning and heading toward the hermetic environment doors that protected the old place.

Amélie had always wondered if those were more meant to keep what was inside locked in for the safety of everyone outside, than for any dangers of another fire. How so many books had survived before was almost incomprehensible.

As they stepped past the heavy glass door, Amélie took in the rows of tall tulipwood bookshelves, all stained dark and decades old.

“If it weren’t a library, it’d have been an ossuary,” Amélie murmured under her breath, as she took in the arching stone of the ceiling and the alcoves all along it. The building felt out of place in Chapel Hill, like something meant for some misty village in the old world.

“You have a good eye, Amélie,” Valois said, rounding the end of one of the bookshelves in her hobbled gait. “It was something like that.”

“Really? Why would there have been one of those here?”

“Why indeed.”

“That… really doesn’t explain much.”

“It’s not meant to, child.”

“Are there any books about it I can pick up and read, then?”

“Before or after your current project?”

“After, of course!”

“Good,” Valois said with a nod. “Because we’re here.” She reached up to one of the old, battered books and carefully set a wrinkled hand on it, pulling it free. It was large, heavy, and bound in brown that probably had, once upon a time, been red. Its markings had long since worn off.

Even without much effort, Amélie could see the slight glimmer where the runes were. It was a warded tome, labeled with magic. It would take a quick spell to unravel the true text on the pages, but it also meant she had a treasure trove of information.

Hopefully enough for what she was plotting.

Briefly, she pondered in the back of her mind whether or not Valois knew that she could read the real book. After a moment, she decided she probably didn’t care.

“See, Professor, this is why I love you and this place. You just have shit like this on the shelves! Where else on earth can I get that!” She took the book reverently, brushing a hand softly over the surface.

“York, New York, Manchester, Chicago, Paris, Burgundy, Berlin, Singapore, Kyoto, and a half dozen others.”

“What?”

“This archive is rare, not one of a kind.” Valois gave a small, thin-lipped smile. “Personally, it’s my favorite one, though.”

“Someday, then,” Amélie said, a weak grin on her face. The task was growing in her mind. She needed to get it set up and in motion, before she lost the fury burning in her veins.

“You know the drill.” Valois turned and began her slow way back to the door. “Press the call button when you’re done, and I’ll let you out. Maybe.”

Amélie’s smile became more genuine, at that, along with a small laugh.

“Thanks, Professor.”

There were four long tables that ran between the three main rows of bookshelves, and at the farthest one, Amélie settled in and prepared herself.

Unlocking the book was, at least, a simple incantation. She pulled out her notebook, referenced the words, and spoke them aloud. A touch and a twist of her thumb, as if leaving a print on it, completed the spell.

“Do you understand what you’re looking at, child?” Professor Valois’s voice came from right behind Amélie, the witch shooting straight up a solid foot from her chair.

“What the fucking fuck!” Amélie spun to look back, hand up and clutching wisps of magic to defend herself in her shock. She had no clue how the Professor had suddenly come to be behind her after seeing her go out the door.

“Ah, I had suspected, but it’s good to know for certain.”

“You could have fucking asked, not given me a heart attack and made me almost shoot lightning at you,” Amélie hissed as she tried to ball up her tension and stuff it back down where all her other negative feelings lived in containment.

“You’re not an honest sort, Amélie. Would you have told me?”

Amélie frowned and bit at her lip, trying not to throw a snappy retort. She genuinely did like the old woman.

“I thought so.” Valois cackled and shook her head, a crooked grin bright on her face. “If you have that book, and you’re able to open it, you’re looking for something unpleasant and I feel I should warn you, if you go much further, you’re going to earn the Divine’s enmity. Or at least that of his heavenly host.”

“Yeah well, he and I don’t exactly get along as it is, so I’m not concerned about his shit tier opinion about my life.”

Valois blinked, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, he hasn’t exactly gone to bat for me before, you know?”

Valois smirked slightly, shrugging.

“Right then. So you understand I give precisely zero fucks, maybe even negative fucks, about what he has to say. That little ass weasel deserves some consequences, so I’m gonna let him spend a little time somewhere more appropriate to his shitty spirit.”

“Amélie,” Valois said, voice almost imperceptibly smoother and more soothing than normal. “Do not kill some ignorant boy for being unable to see you for who you are.” Before Amélie could object, she held up a bony finger to halt her. “Not that he should escape consequence. Let him remember his error. But do not kill.”

“Damn it, Vivian told me to hold back, too,” Amélie sighed, shoulders sinking.

“Vivian is a smart woman.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose between two fingers wearily.

“I wasn’t going to actually kill him, just drop him somewhere nasty for a bit.”

“You know magic requires suitable consideration of the backlash against the user when it is negative, my dear girl.”

“You think that concerns me?”

“For most kinds of magic, it is true.”

“Most kinds. If you know so much, you have to know what kind of witch I am and who I commune with.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you warning me so much?”

“Everyone deserves a chance to consider their choices. Not everyone gets one.” Valois shrugged and pulled out a chair, settling on it. “There are consequences eventually, even for your sect.”

“Those are consequences I do not intend to face,” Amélie said, narrowing her eyes. The anger was still roiling; it wanted to bubble to the surface, to run free.  “And if you were so observant and wise, you’d understand why this all makes me so angry. Do you not see me as a girl?” She knew it wasn’t fair to ask, with their time together, but she could not stop herself.

Valois paused, tilting her head to the side with a curious smile.

“I would think it was obvious, given we have spoken many times here. You may well be very talented, but do you really think you can be assured of escaping them?”

“I’m alive and a girl, fuck that,” Amélie said, squeezing her eyes shut to try and calm herself. “Hell as a girl is better than heaven as some pathetic, pious fake boy. If that ass goblin can’t accept that, if he wants to make my life miserable? He’ll do it to others, too, and I am not letting him hurt them, too.”

“Curious choice,” the old woman replied, fingertips dancing in a rhythm on the table’s hard surface far too smooth and quick. “Part of me believes you actually succeed; even go far.”

“Yeah, starting with planting my boot far up his ass.”

“Just be cautious. It is a perilous game to play.”

 _Spare me all these people who always think they know me better than I do_ , Amélie thought as she sighed and nodded once. It was like having her grandmother give her a talk, and at heart she couldn’t make herself get as sardonic as she wanted in her retorts because of it.

“I get it, I do,” she said, settling back into her chair and flipping open the book. “How’d you know, anyway? My craft.”

“I saw the caparoch owl not long after you started visiting my library,” the Professor said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Junell? She keeps her distance, usually. How did you even see her?”

“I see very well, actually, and they are mostly unknown this far into New England.”

“Fuck, I guess,” Amélie muttered as she flipped through more pages.

She paused, fingertip drifting over text as she read, then traced a diagram.

“Perfect.”

 

*** * * * ***

 

Amélie wasn’t sure what to make of having Valois sit there the whole time while she copied the magic circle and runes into her notebook. She’d snapped a picture on her phone, too, to be safe. Valois hadn’t objected. In fact, she couldn’t think of any time that had ever happened, but something about the encounter made her uneasy.

It was not the time to worry about that, though. Trevor needed a lesson, one that would teach him the folly of harassing Amélie and her sisters, no matter who and where they were.

Into the liquor store she went, keeping her head low and her favorite black cap settled firmly in place.

The ingredients of spells were sometimes as simple as walking down a block or stepping into the grocery. Others were complex. There were even a few that she knew of that were extinct, but some were just difficult to get.

Things like wormwood distillate.

In this instance, it was absinthe, made in the same brew that had been crusaded against almost a hundred and fifty years ago, a villain of the Temperance movement’s quest for prohibition.

Not that Amélie overly cared about the fact it was alcohol or it’s rumored bizarre properties. She wanted it for one reason, and one alone. It was used to mix the ink, along with charred bone, glue, and ashes. Normally it was her preference to buy the ink, but the spell she was planning called for proper ink. Ink that she toiled to make, with the best ingredients.

Everything played a part in a proper ritual, after all.

“Hey,” she said quietly, stopping by the checkout, where the cashier was gazing like a hawk out over the store. “I have a question?”

He looked down, considering her briefly before narrowing his eyes.

“You twenty-one yet?”

“In a few weeks.”

“Come back in a few weeks,” he said, rolling his eyes and pointing.

Amélie rolled her eyes, too, perhaps a bit mocking as she pulled a small, pink quartz from a pocket inside her sleeve and angled a facet at the older student. She poured intent and will into it, pushing mentally with the strands of magic she felt in her.

“Do you have absinthe? The kind made with wormwood?”

He was blinking, and shook his head once or twice, as if someone had flashed a bright light in his eyes but he was unaware it had happened.

“You twenty-one?”

“Yeah, a month ago,” she said.

“That’s hard stuff, make sure you mix it with something,” he said. “La Fée Verte is what you want, back in the imports section.” The back of his hand was rubbing against one of his eyes, but he seemed to be gathering his senses.

“Thanks, I’ll have a look.” She turned on the heel of a black boot and stalked away. She was proud of herself; she always was, when she managed to get her way, but it also annoyed her that they had dared to actually try and stop her from something she wanted. The sheer rudeness of it made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Once she got to the proper location, though, her frustration had faded away. The small section, only two small sets of shelves, nevertheless held a green bottle with the small green fairy emblazoned on it. She took the bottle and inspected it closely.

There it was. Wormwood, artemisia absinthium, in simple black letters on the label.

Perfect.

It was the last ingredient for her work.

The boring name of the brand irked her, though. It pained her that no alternative with a more creative name was available. Either way, it would work, and she headed back up front.

She pulled free her ID, her state driver’s license that clearly showed the date as too soon.

“Ok, twenty-seven eighty-nine,” the cashier said simply.

It made Amélie grin. The power to change an idea, to implant a suggestion, had served her well time and time again, even if it could not stop her deepest problems.

Fortunately, her parents were not there to be an issue, hours away in the city suburbs, probably cursing her memory at that very moment. Part of her hoped that someday, she’d give them a lesson just as severe as Trevor was going to receive.

No.

Far more so.

All they had needed to do was love and accept her, after all, and they’d failed at even that.

“Keep the change,” Amélie murmured, as she set a ten down on the counter. She tilted the quartz one more time and focused.

“Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes again.

She stalked out of the store.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Candles were set in place, black wax with tallow settled at the tops.

With black ink, made by her own hand, the circle was laid out in the second of the two bedrooms of the apartment.

Amélie dusted off her hands and tossed the small brush aside, which clattered off in some distant corner.

“So, this is your project this week, huh?” Vivian was leaning against the door frame, an eyebrow raised. “He really did piss you off good.”

“You think?” She stretched her arms up above her head, then out to either side, yawning. “I almost wanna take a nap, before doing the incantation.”

“What exactly is gonna happen here?” Vivian slowly scanned the room, examining the components and runes placed precisely around the circle.

“There’s three parts to the main spell. I’m gonna breach the access point, then search for the main anchor point, and then refocus on the lucky recipient of our ire. Well, that’s if you don’t count all the wards and that fun stuff. There’s five levels of those.” Amélie walked slowly around the circle as she spoke, as if it was a final briefing to herself as much as to her girlfriend.

“I’ll stand by with the fire extinguisher,” Vivian groused, leaning out then popping back in with the long, red canister. “Again.”

“Shouldn’t be fire this time. Might get some gelatinous grossness, though.”

“Please don’t, these floors are hardwood.”

“If you’re gonna complain, you can sit on the couch and watch TV,” Amélie said with a weak glare.

“Nah, it’s more fun to watch you. You’re something else when you’re caught up in it.” Vivian caught her with an outstretched hand as she circled near again, pulling her close. “Fair lady, did you know there are witches about these parts?”

Amélie laughed and shook her head, letting her tension ease a little in Vivian’s arms.

“Best watch out for them,” she said, sealing it with a kiss before she pulled back. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” Amélie replied easily, her grin a hint shy with a touch of red in her cheeks.

“So, all set to go? It’s ten thirty on a Friday night and no classes tomorrow,” Vivian said, settling onto a chair in the corner and propping up one knee over the other after a bit of smoothing of her favorite deep purple skirt.

“I think so. It actually shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Once that part’s done, it’s just watching and laughing.”

“Where are you going to send him, anyway?”

“You’ll get it when you see it. I made sure it’s not that fatal.”

“So considerate of you.”

“Let it not be said that I am unmerciful,” Amélie said with a grin as she tugged at her torn black jeans to get them back in comfortable placement.

“You? The subbiest sub ever, talking like some mighty top?” Vivian hid her mouth with the back of her hand as she giggled at the witch.

“Shush,” Amélie shot back, cheeks red. “This is different.”

“Sure, babe,” Vivian said with a knowing grin as Amélie closed on her. Before she could say a word, Vivian grabbed the O-ring on the black choker around her neck, and tugged her to meet her. “You’re number one in your field, I’m number one in my field, and you happen to be my field.”

She could feel Amélie’s shudder the tiniest bit, and a small huff of shocked desire pass her lips.

“Now go get that asshole, and maybe I’ll come up with a fun game to play afterward.” Vivian herself was pleased with her little plan. It would work out beautifully for both of them, particularly on the heels of the turn-on that was watching Amélie work her serious magic. It was in good spirit, the teasing and their relationship. Usually it was Vivian at the top, but sometimes, Amélie just had a fire that Vivian adored bathing in.

Amélie was sure to give an extra emphasis on the way her hips shifted when she turned back to the circle, sure to show off the shape of her rear in her trusty tight jeans.

The sleeves on Amélie’s long-sleeved top began to flutter almost immediately when the first word of magic slipped from her tongue.

Vivian leaned forward, chin in her palms as she watched. She’d known a few girls who dabbled in the arts before, but Amélie was different. Amélie had far more effect, with tangible power in her spells and soul. It was not through any special gift bestowed, or some dark favor, aside from what she had communed with herself.

Amélie was just good; maybe better than good.

The ink blazed red, making outlines on the floor filled with pitch darkness. The candles swayed unnaturally, all pointing inward to the center.

Vivian felt a pang of nervousness.

The witch was not holding back.

Red and black tendrils of power flowed freely about between the circle, wisps of almost tangible power at Amélie’s command.

Part of Vivian wondered if Amélie even needed the circles and rituals sometimes. Could she not simply use her sheer force of will and power to do the same things? But she knew that there were reasons for the channeling and careful corralling of magic. Safety was chief among them.

She shifted her hands, her fingers weaving as her voice worked in words tainted with darkness. Even quiet, they soaked into the conscience and seeped with arcane presence.

Her eyes snapped open, aglow with the crimson of her power. She wore a smug smirk.

One step down.

And her aim had been solid. Only a few moments passed for her to sense her goal.

“We’re there,” she said, the words no longer needed for the spell until the final incantation to redirect the power on her tormentor. “Just making sure everything lines up, and-“

It sounded like a rubber band snapping mixed with the pop of an electrical discharge.

The floor bulged, warped, and tried to turn inward upon itself. It undulated as if it was unable to decide which pressure to obey.

It took Amélie a moment to realize it wasn’t actually the floor itself, but the magic circle. It was being stressed to the breaking point.

The first thing to dawn on her was that out of the five wards she had set in place to protect herself and Vivian…

...Only three were left.

“Viv, you should-” Something yanked her foot and she went speechless.

She looked down, and saw _something_ coiling around her calf and ankle. A moment of terrible comprehension swept through her, but it was subsumed by her astonishment. _How could I have possibly fucked up?_ Amélie wondered, eying it in morbid fascination as time seemed to slow.

“Amélie!” Vivian contradicted every instinct she had, and leapt forward, reaching out to grab ahold of her arm.

“Don’t!” Amélie yelped as she was pulled in both directions at once, finding her voice at the intervention of her girlfriend.

“What the hell are you gonna do by yourself?” Vivian growled, leaning back and putting as much of her weight into holding Amélie as she could, legs straining.

“Wards are still up,” Amélie murmured, biting at her lip suddenly as she realized she still had some protection.  Looking back at the thing spiraling up her jeans, she curled her arm to tug against Vivian. “You can run, I’ll keep it’s focus until it’s sated.”

“Sated?! What’s it even want? Don’t these things eat people and take souls?” Vivian refused to relinquish her grip.

“It’s not even coherent.” She released her grip on Vivian’s arm, and slid closer to the floor. “If I close it off, it’ll kill the whole spell and waste all our time and effort.”

“How are you planning to keep the spell going with tentacles crawling up your leg?” Vivian felt her grip weakening, even with her arms wrapped around the witch’s forearm with all her strength.

“They fuck. Fuck and-” She felt the tentacle constricting around her thigh. Her torn jeans were losing their integrity, threatening to tear. “-suck energy, life n’magic. Enough and they’re dormant.” Her words were rushed, and ended when she yelped as two things happened.

Vivian’s grip gave out, freeing Amélie at least on one side. Half her jeans ripped into shreds, leaving her in a single pants leg and the seat of the pants. She thudded against the floor, wood cracking outside of the circle loudly as it heaved.

“Shit,” Amélie whispered. The power she’d caught the attention of was impressive. It was going to take some effort to keep the spell focused; effort she was willing to give.

But there was another reason Amélie didn’t snap the portal shut and drop the spell.

Curiosity.

The tome had, after all, mentioned the proclivity of hellvines to also provide some pleasure. It hadn’t been her plan, but with the wards still holding aside from her more elaborate ones, there was a good chance that it was going to end way better for her than she first expected.

The circle twisted on the floor, and easily a dozen phosphorescent purple-blue tentacles burst forth.

Undulating and seeking, there was little there but Amélie to find inside the circle, and they began to grip at her arms, her other leg, her waist, all coiling and restraining her, eager for the glowing beacon of energy. She was a magnificent meal of arcane power and life force.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Vivian said quietly, her voice barely audible above the sickening slick sounds that had filled the room, accompanied by strained groans from Amélie. Her eyes caught Amélie’s, and were met with a smirk.

“I can handle this,” Amélie said. With a quick flick, just barely possible with her restrained wrist, she reached out.  The word that followed was not any mortal language, but the circle beneath them surged, beginning to push back more vigorously.

“You absolutely fucking cannot handle this!” Vivian hissed at her. She narrowed her eyes, then reached out, grabbing her wrist, as the the darkness of the markings flowed down, seeming to seep beyond the floor.

Visibly, there was little change in the tentacles, but Amélie was instantly less tense as they squeezed and crept closer. The other part of her jeans shredded. Her shirt bulged and burst.

“Vivian, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up, Ams,” Vivian growled, as the first tentacle slid along her arm.

More quickly followed.

Amélie spared a moment to glance at the tattered remnants of her shirt.

“Fuck, I liked that one.”

Amélie shivered when one of them curled around her black and gray striped panties. They were malevolent entities, after all, so she figured she shouldn’t be surprised by their strange desire to ruin clothes.

Vivian, meanwhile, looked ready to say something about it being Amélie’s fault the shirt was ruined, but instead one of the tentacles managed to climb up her chest enough to slide along her jaw.

It grew more intense, as if that were the sign for them to switch to a far more aggressive phase of their cycle of feeding.

“The books, they say sexual energy feeds them, kinda like a succubus,” Amélie said, tugging at her wrists.

“This isn’t the time to be fascinated, Ams,” Vivian said through clenched teeth as she noted the ones climbing along her thighs unhindered thanks to her skirt.

With a slow curl, one of the tentacles slid along Amélie’s soft dick, slippery residue in its wake as it coiled.

She couldn’t help herself.

She moaned.

Just a small, quiet sound, but an unmistakable one.

It was cool and smooth, the faintest hint of texture and it moved as though it were aware of the spots that drew her greatest reaction. Slithering, it settled into a grip, the tip rubbing the small patch of flesh where the shaft and head met.

Vivian found herself captivated as she watched Amélie’s eyes flutter.

“Yeah, it’s magic. They cheat,” Amélie murmured, voice husky. “They wanna good taste.”

Vivian almost retorted again, but instead, when her mouth opened, she found it quickly occupied. It was a strange taste, one she couldn’t rightly describe. Vaguely sweet, tinged with copper and herbs. It only made sense, she decided. They meant to lull victims, so they may as well be pleasant for that part.

But she made certain to hold Amélie’s eyes with hers, difficult as it was becoming.

It let her watch when Amélie’s back stiffened and she let out a whimpering moan. She didn’t need intuition to know that sound.

Amélie made it every time Vivian slipped her fingers in her ass. Her eyes darted down, and she watched as her smooth belly rolled as she accepted the intrusion, the tentacle in her mouth thankfully angled as it came from off-center.

“F-fuck,” Amélie let out, voice a squeak before she found herself gagged as well.

The tentacles shifted, more combing. The circle’s power kept them contained, unable to leave it, but it meant the pair were pushed in together. Tentacles slid between them, the only thing separating their chests and bellies as they met.

There was the faintest hint of apology in Amélie’s eyes as she managed to get a glance at Vivian, but Vivian’s fluttered shut as she felt her slit probed with a long, teasing drag of the cool hellflesh. It was taunting, her anticipation tightly wound below her belly.

If she could have, she would have moaned loudly when it slid home, spreading her with its girth, but the one in her mouth took it as a chance to sink a touch deeper, somehow overriding her gag reflex with its bizarre coating.

Amélie felt it as the one in her backside burrowed deeper, subtly shifting and seeking within her to find more surface area that it could use to pull power.  Vivian could tell, from the way Amélie was rolling her hips against hers, that it was already pushing her hard. Usually it took work to get her girlfriend to the point of being on the edge.

It had only been a couple of minutes.

What Vivian didn’t expect was the way the thing curled up against her, pressuring her clit and the surrounding flesh with aching skill. She felt as it coiled and shifted as they pressed together more tightly, Amélie’s soft penis pressing up against her. There was no danger of it growing firm enough to slip into her, much less with the tentacles in the way, but it felt divine as they simply ground against each other.

In another moment, Vivian found her own version of the tentacle penetrating Amélie. The resistance of her muscles was fierce for a moment, but the unnatural lubricant made it surprisingly painless when it slid home and left a satisfying sensation of being stretched just as she was in her other entrance.

The tentacles within them seemed to pick up sporadic rhythm, not quite synchronized yet somehow coordinated.

It started with the ones in their mouths.

As if it was their grown purpose, they pulsed, pouring thick fluid in their throats. If anything, Amélie would have called it like a milkshake, with a taste not unlike the pistachios she had always liked, with its viscous bulk.

It left them both coughing just the same when they retreated.

Freed the slightest bit, they were able to look at each other, as each of them tried to keep from succumbing completely to their building climaxes.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Vivian murmured, after swallowing an extra time to clear her throat.

“You should check a mirror, babe,” Amélie replied, after gasping for air. She was quickly trying in vain to get a broad dribble of the pale blue liquid off the corner of her mouth.

“Brat, don’t make me spank you later.” Vivian shuddered as her body tensed, her nerves almost at the breaking point.

“Promise?” Amélie sounded distant as she spoke, her grinding against her lover growing more erratic.

As tentacles curled more tightly around them, twisting and pulling at their breasts and sliding along their entire bodies, Vivian knew the game of faux resistance was done.

“F-fuck, you looked so close, how’m I already…” She trailed off as her eyes rolled back and she bit her lip, pleasure burgeoning in her and racing through her body.

Seeing Vivian sinking into the throes of orgasm was too much for Amélie, who felt it as she began to clench around the tentacle and her soft cock pulsed, clear liquid copiously leaking from it as she tried to curl up. All she could do was press against Vivian, but the muscles strained in futility. In defiance, she pushed with all her might and caught her lips.

It was a messy kiss, filled with the residue of the tentacles and their own saliva flowing more than was normal, but it only made it better. The witch wanted more, tried to keep up with the dizzying intensity of the point where her climax would fall off, and she’d settle to the afterglow.

“Oh-” Amélie gasped out. “Oh shit.” The tentacles had not given in. The briefest of hesitance was in their motions, but they way they twisted and rubbed, and in particular pushed a soft spot inside her, made her eyes go wide. There was not to be a wind down yet.

“You’re really gonna come aga-” Vivian couldn’t get more than a few words out before it hit her again.

She had seen it plainly on Amélie’s face just as a long, low moan of wanton abandon escaped, her head tilting back.

Vivian had tried, valiantly, to draw out more than one peak from Amélie. Part of her thought she should be angry to not be the first one to draw that out from her girlfriend, but the look in her eyes, that sweet sound of abandon was too glorious to be anything but enraptured.

And so Vivian found herself on her third.

But the tentacles were merciless.

More came.

And more, unceasing. 

A long, rolling blur of tentacles, slickness, peaks, and their own wetness soaking in everywhere, their senses seemed to lost touch, drifting into a realm of incomprehensibility and bliss.

For a time, Amélie buried her face in Vivian’s neck, laying wild and desperate tiny kisses that held no strength or direction, only wanting to find purchase and taste the soft, sweat sheen and fragrance of her girlfriend. When she could keep it up no more, as the peaks kept crashing over them, her head would fall back, and the positions would shift.

Vivian nipped with her teeth, red marks accumulating along the witch’s neck and jawline.

Each time, the lust-saturated haze grew stronger and fed into the hellspawn more.

Amélie felt her focus threatening to crack. How long had it been? An hour? Two? More? The circle was waning. She wasn’t sure if her dizziness was the loss of her stores of magic energy or the sheer sexual exertion that had been coaxed from both of them.

She had come so far, but her goal was looking as though it was going to slip from her grasp.

And so Amélie did what she did so well.

She fucked with the magic. With a tiny bit of her reserve, she tore a hand free, to form the ritual more easily. She shuddered as another peak tore through her, Vivian shaking against her and moaning blissfully as well.

When she managed to still her own voice for a moment, Amélie uttered the short sequence of words to call the rest of the power left to her, and cut off the whole spell.

Force pushed against the writhing mass, as a burst of power re-exerted the laws of the mortal world against them. The entire room felt tense, pressurized, in a haze of ozone, as if lightning had just flickered through the room.

The doorway collapsed.

So much gathered energy, burned away.

With her last conscious effort, Amélie snagged it within her hands, and whispered the words of a desperate plea to her goddess.

Her hand fell to the floor, the entire area outside the circle stripped of the hardwood’s stained lacquer and splintered in multiple places. It landed on Vivian’s, and she gripped it, to a soft ‘oooh’ from her girlfriend.

Unable to know what to even think or say, they stared upwards, trying to recover enough to just move.

It wasn’t happening.

They gave up, panting, and let sweet exhaustion claim them into sleep.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Magic can be, when the components are inaccurate, where the incantations are not enunciated properly, when the energy channeled is not the proper kind, a force with unpredictable consequences.

Trevor had never seen an owl up close.

Trevor had never seen half a dozen owls at once.

Trevor had never seen a solid two dozen owls in one place, to be certain.

But that night, he did. And they had come for him. Snowy and barn, screech, even one great horned owl, the seeming leader of the flock, with eyes that glimmered far too intelligently in the moonlight. Swooping, crying out, and pursuing him, they darted and clawed, tore and blocked.

He had managed to get through a single door on the campus, grown dead with the late hour. The cafeteria, dark and solemn, was where he hid for two hours, until he saw no sign of the birds.

Clever and driven, they knew to wait, for they were patient hunters.

He was run out of the parking garage when he tried to sneak to his truck. Down the street he fled, to the park, and to the woods. The arboreal presence on campus owed no allegiance one way or the other, only bearing witness.

Trevor did not die. He was not even injured significantly.

But he would never be quite the same.

Never would he harass Amélie again.

It was in her eyes. A glimmer of something he could not quite rationalize, he knew it only from one other place.

The eyes of those vengeful owls.

 

*** * * * ***

 

“What, why?” Amélie clenched a hand and shook her head in disbelief.

“Ams, we ruined an entire bedroom!” Vivian said, as if it were totally obvious.

To be fair, it really was.

“So we’re gonna have to find a new place to live?”

“Seems that way,” Vivian said with a sigh. “Ah, I like that place, too. They had great water pressure.”

“Yeah,” Amélie agreed, voice dull and tired. She managed to perk up just a bit, though. “As long as it’s with you, though.”

“You bet, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed, and feel free to leave any constructive criticism in comments here or in asks on twitter. Also feel free to shoot me a message if you feel some tags are missing, and I'll get them added.  
> NSFW Stuff: https://twitter.com/shadysuccubus  
> SFW Stuff: https://twitter.com/Archaema


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